And so it begins...

With a lot of curiosity, and some trepidation, Alyria tries to stay up to see where we go.

With the party, besides Couth, loaded into one wagon, the travelers snap the house reins and the caravan glides silently down a partially forested path, adorned with ethereal lanterns that cast a warm, flickering glow. The rhythmic jingling of colorful small bells and the soft murmur of melodic tunes emanate from the caravan, weaving a spell of enchantment through the nocturnal air. As the moonlight filters through the rustling leaves, the mystical procession advances with an air of magic, leaving behind a trail of mystery. Couth is enjoying some time with Lalya and others in another wagon. The caravan of traders heads down the path for a good 30 minutes before most of the party gets comfortable and is lulled to sleep by the entrancing dings of the bells.

Eyes of the Storm (And maybe Alyria) stay up and keep a watchful eye on the road, seeing where this caravan calls home.

Eye of the Storm keen knowledge of the local territories has him confused. The road the caravan has been traveling on should have passed the village of New Troit a few minutes ago but they did not.
Eye of the Storm pulls back the wagon's clothe flap to get a better look and can only see a dense thick fog. The fog is so thick he can not even see the tracks the caravan wheels are making nor his hand waving in front of his face.

Something was amiss! Where had this fog come from? And why were their hosts not perturbed by it? The strange old lady was not the only one with tricks it seemed. Quickly Eye of the Storm woke his companions.
"Wake up! wake up! Something is amiss! Trickery is afoot!"

With a disgruntled murmur that still managed to carry a singsong tone, Briar reaches to rub the sleep from her eyes and drowsily asks, "What’s happening? Is something wrong?" As consciousness settles upon the fairy, she lurches upright, realizing she has awoken in an unfamiliar location. A moment of scanning the space eases her mind as she recalls the evening prior’s project and she turns her attention to her hand, absentmindedly asking Eye of the Storm in an exaggerated pout, "Why’d you wake me up?"

Ashtar opened his eyes, unsure what to make of the feline's words as wakefulness slowly descended back down to him. "What's amiss? Is there an attack?"

The Tabaxi hissed his reply, wary of the driver's intentions..
"Magical fog. And our hosts are not surprised by it. They're up to something!"

Setting aside the concern for her hand at the present moment, Briar scurries to the edge of the wagon and peers into the fog, straining her eyes to get a better understanding.

"Are you sure it’s magical and just not a really, really, really thick fog? You know how forests can be…"

The caravan keeps traveling through the fog with no problems. Stanimir hums softly to himself as they roll along. The lantern's glow are oddly, eerily, and barely visible in the dense fog. Stanimir does not appear worried.

Briar taking a better look at the fog, you don't think it is completely natural. The way it descends like a haunting shroud, its tendrils curling eerily around the wagons, and how it conceals the path ahead. Within its thick embrace, spectral spirits materialize, their ethereal forms flickering amidst the swirling mist.

Briar scrunches her face, disgruntled by what she has found in her examination beyond their wagon. Noting that Stanimir seems unphased, she is not comforted. Between the old man in the fog and the old lady vendor, this group has proven themselves to be a shady bunch.

She waves Ashtar over as she scoots closer to Eye of the Storm, partially to speak in secret, partially out of fear and hoping to find a sense of safety next to the larger body, the fairy whispers "There are things in the fog. You are right. I don’t like it. What do we do?"

Ashtar scowled. "Seems your caution proved correct, my feline friend. Wherever they're taking us, I fear something afoot. There's naught to do at this point, but see how it plays out, unless you wish to attack these folks and attempt to turn back."

He walked up to the old man. "Stanimir, what is this fog? It is magical, and my companion suspects foul play."

With a slight chuckle, "The fog is nothing to worry about. Normal around these parts. Head back to sleep. The fog will pass by by morning." Stanimir goes back to his Humming.

Ashtar was taken aback by Stanimir's dismissive attitude. "Would you do me the courtesy of informing me about the magical fog? Where I'm from, it is good manners for hosts to answer questions asked by guests. Dismissals and secrets has a habit of making one party think ill of another."

He takes a puff of his pipe sitting nearby and blows out a puff of smoke. The smoke swirls and mixes with the fog, before being swallowed up by it. "Nothing really to tell. Stay in the wagon, and you will be fine. Fog just makes everyone get all turned around. Messes with your sense of direction. People tend to get confused and lost if they stay in it too long. I wasn't going to tell you because I was expecting you to be asleep."

Ashtar nodded. It wasn't the most comforting answer, but there was no reason Ashtar feared for why the man might conjure a false story, so he took it for the truth. "Thank you."

With that, he returned to tell the others what he'd been told. "I'm going back to sleep. If the fog's purpose is to addle the mind, then staring at it would only make things worse."

With little reassurance about the dangers within the fog, the party settles back down into a wagon and falls back to sleep. The rest of the night goes by without incident. The night is silent and clam.

---

Morning creeps in, and the party jolts awake to the unsettling symphony of a lone wolf's mournful howl, swiftly joined by a chorus of another couple dozen wolves. Their haunting cries reverberate eerily through the mist-laden woods. The once-haunting howls transform into a nightmarish cacophony, a deafening amalgamation of barks, brays, nips, and snarls. The unsettling chorus draws nearer, corrals the wagons on the right and left side, as it ominously rolls forward into the foggy unknown.